


Beautiful Thing

by Kushana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Possibly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kushana/pseuds/Kushana
Summary: A short piece on Harry and Draco after the war. My vision of what could have been.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is my first time writing fanfiction, so please be kind! Constructive criticism is always appreciated. English is not my native language, and this work has not been proofread, so if you see any mistake please tell me. Be warned that this is a male/male fanfiction, so if you don't like it, don't read it. For those of you who do, I hope you'll like this.
> 
> All the characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I do not own any of them.
> 
> Edit: Many many thanks for the kudos. You make my day!

Harry was watching the sunset. The sky had turned golden, and the drifting clouds had taken a pink hue that would only grow more intense with each passing moment. A warm breeze played with his hair, brushing stray strands against his forehead. His head rested on his knees, his hands clasped on his ankles, grasping the rough fabric of his jeans. He had taken off his robes before coming to the Astronomy Tower. His friends were probably waiting for him in Gryffindor’s common room, but at that moment he didn’t care. He wanted to be alone. He had starting coming here at the beginning of term every time he needed to think, to relax, to breathe. He loved his friends dearly, but ever since the aftermath of Voldemort’s death he had felt himself slowly drifting apart from them. They had been through many hardships together, had managed to defeat Voldemort at the cost of as few deaths as possible (but still too many. He didn’t want to think about Tonks, or Lupin, or Fred. The pain was still too fresh, too raw. And he didn’t want to think about the others, known or unknown. He didn’t want to think about Dumbledore, or Snape). But as much as Ron and Hermione cared for him, despite everything they had faced together, they still couldn’t comprehend the extent of what he had endured during all those years before they finally managed to get rid of Tom Riddle. They didn’t have his memories, his firsthand experience of Voldemort’s power and hexes, of the fear and the pain he had known at the hands of the enemy of the Wizarding world. They had tried to understand, but Harry wouldn’t answer their questions, wouldn’t speak about it. He didn’t want to burden them – or such was the explanation he always gave; but the truth was that they could never, ever understand him, simply because they hadn’t shared those hardships. Harry felt a bit like an outcast. Many people had suffered because of Voldemort, but it seemed to him that he was the only one who still had to find the will and energy to move on, to put the dreadful past behind and live. Even those who grieved their loved ones had managed, so to speak, to square their shoulders, raise their heads and go onwards. He would not think about the Weasleys – not think about Ginny, who was waiting for him to come back to her, as he had implicitly promised before leaving to find the Horcruxes. But he could not – would not – come back. Despite the care and concern that he felt for her, despite all the feelings he had had for her before the final chase started, he knew now that he would not find peace with her. Too many things had happened throughout the years that he was just beginning to understand the impact on him. He had been through too much to even consider spending his life – or part of his life – with someone who could only imagine what it must have been like, what it must have felt like. But he didn’t have the words to tell her, to make her understand. He had told her that he didn’t feel like starting a relationship again, which was true. She had accepted, but he knew that she had been hurt, and was still hurting. Truth was, he didn’t care. He felt so empty, so hollow inside. He had put all his energy, all his life into fighting Voldemort, and now that everything was finished, nothing was left for him. He sighed and closed his eyes to the clouds and sunset and everything around him, and wished for the world to start making sense again.

 

The day was clear and bright, a clement weather that invited to walk around the lake. Even though it was Saturday, the path around the lake was desert, except for Harry who had refused to go to Hogsmeade with his friends. It had led to an argument with Ron until Hermione had cut in and supported Harry’s decision to stay in Hogwarts. Harry had been grateful for that. He knew Hermione was the closest to understand what was going on in his mind, and she was careful to leave him enough space to be, in spite of her deep concern for him and her sympathy for Ron and Ginny’s hurt feelings. The situation was not easy on her, but she was the only one who didn’t blame him. He let his mind wander to the sound of the waves on the shore, the feeling of the breeze on his skin and in his hair, the crushing sensation of the ground beneath his feet. He hadn’t put his robes on this morning, staying in the dark grey jeans and long-sleeved black shirt that had become his uniform. His hands were fisted in his pockets, and time and again he would kick at a rock and send it in the water. It took him some time to realize that he wasn’t alone in his wanderings. Ahead of him, a figure that had apparently been engrossed in watching the waves lapping at the shore had started walking again. He couldn’t tell if the person had noticed him or not. He felt curious at the idea of someone else willing to stay at Hogwarts instead of going to Hogsmeade, and he sped up to try to cast a better glance at the lonely walker. It appeared that the person was walking slowly, for Harry began to close the distance between them and soon recognized the pale hair. Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise. The Slytherin hadn’t been mingling much with his friends and fellows from his House since the beginning of term. Harry had crossed paths with him frequently, since the Eight Years had most of their courses together, and he had noticed how Malfoy had grown silent and lonely. It had reminded him of their brief encounter after Harry had appealed before the Wizenmagot to set him and his mother free. After they had been released and cleansed from all charges against them, he had called the blond teenager as he and his mother were leaving the Ministry. Malfoy had been startled, but otherwise had remained still and waited for Harry to catch up with them. He had shot Harry a quizzical look, and the dark-haired boy had wordlessly handed him his wand. An expression of intense stupefaction had crossed the Slytherin’s features, but he had taken the wand nevertheless and whispered “Thank you”. Beside him Narcissa had nodded and added: “Thank you for everything”. It had been Harry’s turn to nod. Then Malfoy and his mother had turned round and resumed their walk towards the doors of the Ministry.

  
Harry came back to the lake and the figure ahead of him. He had gotten close enough to notice that Malfoy hadn’t put his robes on either. The Slytherin was wearing dark trousers and a long-sleeved green shirt that made the paleness of his hair stand out even more. Harry watched the strands as the wind ruffled them. Malfoy had been letting his hair grow since his trial. During the first course they had had together, Harry had reflected that the way it framed the thin face revealed a fragility he hadn’t seen before. This impression was enhanced by Malfoy’s new behaviour. He remained silent most of the time, answering his friends’ soft teasing with smiles that contrasted with the smirk he used to wear most of the time the years before. Those smiles didn’t reach his eyes, though. Harry had been surprised to realize how similar their attitudes were. Malfoy seemed to isolate himself from his friends as much as Harry did with his. It had struck him as odd, until he had reflected that the Slytherin had been through more hardships than his croonies. His family house had harboured Voldemort, his father had been a Death Eater, he had been forced to take the Dark Mark, to torture, to watch as people were being tortured. He had been given a task he could never accomplish, on pain of death for his family. He had been tortured by the Dark Lord. His experience set him apart from his friends, just like Harry’s did. Harry now felt strangely at ease with Malfoy when they were in the same room. They had even been teamed a few times by Slughorn in their Potions class and it had gone well. They had been civil to each other when they needed to communicate and silent when they didn’t. This silence had allowed Harry to relax more than he did with his friends, perhaps because Malfoy didn’t expect any conversation from him, and didn’t seem to wish for it either.

  
The sudden stillness of the figure before him dragged Harry back to the present. Malfoy had noticed his presence and turned around to see who was there. Harry hadn’t realized that he had come that close to his former enemy; and had the Slytherin not stopped and startled him out of his reverie, he would likely have bumped into him and sent them both on the ground for lack of balance. The pale face a few feet away from him looked surprised and curious. The grey eyes had a questioning look, but Malfoy didn’t say anything. He just watched Harry, his hair ruffled by the breeze, strands stroking his cheeks with each soft gust. Harry shrugged and gestured towards the path. Malfoy arched an eyebrow and searched Harry’s face. Harry remained still. Then the blond slowly nodded and turned onwards again. Harry settled beside him, and they resumed their walk around the lake. Time and again, Harry would look at his companion. They had started a slow pace at the instigation of the Slytherin. Harry found it relaxing, as much as the sound of the waves or Malfoy’s silence. The blond head was bent towards the ground. His hands were hidden in his sleeves with only the fingers showing where they grabbed the fabric. The gesture reminded Harry of a child wearing his father’s clothes. He couldn’t see Malfoy’s face for the soft hair that fell around it. It felt strange not to see his expression, when during all those years they had spent in the same school the pale strands had been carefully combed, so that everyone could take in the superior smirk and pale skin. Harry felt the disturbing desire to reach out and tuck the blond curtain behind an ear to watch Malfoy’s face. Instead, he turned his head and concentrated on the lake, and they walked silently onwards.

 

Harry put Molly Weasley’s letter down with a sigh. It hadn’t been unexpected, but he had hoped that she would wait until the holidays were finished. Granted, he had had an argument with Ron about his refusal to go to the Burrow for the Christmas holidays; but Ron, thanks to Hermione’s supportive arguments, had been able to accept Harry’s decision, grudgingly so. However, Harry hadn’t expected the argument he had with Ginny afterwards. He had managed to remain calm, understanding and polite for most of the discussion, but then Ginny had started blaming Malfoy for Harry’s abnormal – or so she termed it – behaviour towards his friends in general and her in particular, and Harry had lost his temper for the first time since the war. It was true that he had started to walk around the lake with the Slytherin on a weekly basis – each Saturday, at the same time he had found the other teenager the first time – and that they were now cordial to each other whenever they crossed paths or were in the same room. However, he couldn’t stand Ginny’s accusation that Draco had somehow managed to charm him to separate him from his friends. Harry had try to appeal to reason, but Ginny had become more and more irrational, until the point when she had broken down, and told him that she didn’t understand why he would like to spend his free time with a former Death Eater rather than with his girlfriend, who was still waiting for him to come to his senses and back to her. That had been the beginning of the end.

  
“You are not my girlfriend anymore, Ginny. I know that I told you before the war that we would go back together, but things have changed. I have changed, whether you like it or not. I’ve realized that all I’ve been through has shaped me and somehow put me apart, because no one have been through what I’ve been through. Draco is the only person that comes close to understanding me, if only because he has suffered nearly as much as me from Voldemort’s hands and actions. He is also the only person apart from Hermione who doesn’t demand or ask anything from me. He doesn’t ask me to be what I’m not, or to give what I can’t give. Can you understand?”

  
“Y-you even c-call him Dr-Draco!”

  
Ginny had cried and cried, and left the room. It was the first morning of the holidays, and both the Weasleys and Hermione had departed before lunch after that. Ron had kept quiet, saying only “Take care, mate” before leaving the dorm, and Hermione had hugged him tightly, her eyes filled with tears. She had whispered in his ear “Do what makes you happy” and followed her boyfriend. Harry had gone to the lake earlier than usual and walked until his legs hurt, wondering why on Earth it was such a heartbreaking thing for Ginny that he called Draco by his first name, even though he only did it in the privacy of his mind.

  
And there he was, sitting at his desk, Molly’s letter spread on top of it waiting for an answer, on the morning of Christmas Eve. He understood Molly’s concern and her desire to gather all of her loved ones for Christmas, but he didn’t want to go to the Burrow and pretend to be happy when he would be waiting for Tonks and Remus to appear at the door any time, or for Fred to come down the stairs with his usual grin on his face. He didn’t want another reminder of what he had lost. He didn’t want to have to make small talk, or talk at all. He wanted peace, and silence, and Draco could give him just that. He too had chosen to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, and they met by the lake everyday. Their silent walks soothed Harry so much now, he wished they could walk endlessly in the low rumble of the waves. He sighed again and picked up some parchment and his quill to answer Molly, and confirm that he would stay at Hogwarts for Christmas and the reminder of the holidays.

He found himself waiting for Draco at their usual meeting point. Since they were on holidays and only a few students staying in the school, they didn’t wear their formal robes outside the walls. Draco wore a green woollen coat that went down to his knees, with a matching scarf in which he had buried his nose. His long legs were clad in black trousers tucked in black snow boots. Harry wore snow boots too – it had snowed quite a lot the previous day, and it was due to snow a lot more before the end of the year. Draco, just like Harry, had buried his hands in his pockets. Harry waited until the blond had sided with him before starting to walk. They soon found their rhythm and ambled along the shore, the snow making crushing sounds beneath their boots. They had reached the point where they usually turned back when the bird shot in the sky. It was a bird of prey, but that was as much as Harry could tell before the brown form had soared higher than the trees. He turned his head to see how Draco reacted and his heart skipped a beat. The Slytherin had thrown his head back and was watching the bird fly, and the expression on his face told Harry that he wished he was the bird, to be able to break free and soar higher and higher, until only the sun would see him fly. Then the wind started to blow and the pale hair brushed again the pale skin, shielding Draco’s face before falling back and being messed up again. Draco stood there, head bent backwards, hands in his pockets, his eyes riveted to the bird, and Harry couldn’t take his eyes from the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The creamy skin, the soft features, the silky-looking hair, the sleek body clad in green and black… Draco was beautiful, and only for Harry to see.

 

Dinner was uneventful. Since there were few students, they were gathered with the teachers at the teachers’ table. Harry sat next to Draco and they discussed quietly, as they were wont to do since the beginning of the holidays. They spoke about their studies, their future, life in the Wizarding world versus life in the Muggle world, music, literature, anything except the war. They talked briefly about their friends, but the subject was too painful on both sides, for different reasons, and they didn’t dwell on it. They waited until a few minutes before Christmas to quietly slip outside for a walk. By that time the teachers had gotten pretty tipsy, and the other students were engrossed either in discussion or in games. Harry found the cold air relaxing and soothing. They started walking in silence, slowly, their path lit by glowing spheres that Draco had conjured. Their soft, radiant light softened Draco’s features and gave him an eerie quality, as if he was a kind of fey that had dressed in the guise of a human being. Harry found it difficult to look elsewhere while such a beautiful being was treading the Earth beside him. The silence added to his daydreaming – this peculiar silence that can only be found before it snows, or under the snow. On cue, small snowflakes started dropping from the sky. Draco threw his head back, eyes unblinking, before stretching a finger in front of him. He watched until a snowflake landed on the tip of his leather-clad index, then brought it to his lips and tentatively licked the white fragments before they had time to melt. Harry’s heart jumped into his throat and he felt his pulse quicken. He watched as Draco’s face broke into a smile, and found himself on the receiving end of this wonderful radiance when the blond turned to face him. His body decided to stop thinking. He reached out with bare fingers and cupped Draco’s face in cold hands, marvelling at the softness of the skin despite its coldness. He noticed the pink hue on Draco’s cheeks and nose before he closed the distance between them and kissed him. His lips were soft, though cold and dry, and when Draco slightly opened his mouth his warm breath caressed Harry’s lips. Harry opened his mouth in turn and their breaths mingled while he started nibbling and licking Draco’s lips. He was so lost in his sensations that he noticed Draco’s hands on his collar only when the blond pulled him closer. A leather-clad hand crept around his neck to wind itself in the hair on the nape of his neck. Draco fully opened his mouth and their tongues started sliding together when he answered. He kept one hand on Draco’s face and dropped the other on his slim waist to bring their bodies even closer. They kissed and kissed and kissed in the silence of the snow and the glow of the spheres, until the need to breathe forced them apart. When they separated, Harry searched Draco’s eyes, and found there the answer to a question he hadn’t dared to ask. He gathered the Slytherin in his arms and kissed him again, slowly, softly, revelling in a reciprocity he hadn’t dared to hope for.

 

Harry woke up to a soft sound against the window, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. Memories of the previous night replayed in his mind and a smile stretched his lips until he was sure the top of his head would fall off. A weight on his side and a soft breath on his skin confirmed that he hadn’t dreamt the wonderful events. Slowly, so as not to wake up his lover, he started stroking the pale hair, carding his fingers through the silky strands in a soothing motion. He turned his head and smelt their sweet scent, and found it as relaxing as the movement of his fingers. He inhaled deeply and softly kissed Draco’s head. Draco sighed and snuggled closer, his left hand on Harry’s heart, his head on Harry’s shoulder, his body warm and relaxed against Harry’s. Eyes still closed, Harry recalled their night. The softness of Draco’s lips, of his skin, of his hands; his quiet sighs and moans during love, his little gasps towards the end; the way his body had arched under Harry’s, bringing him deeper and deeper inside; the way he had clung to him, hands on his back, in his hair, lips searching for lips, teeth nipping at skin; his beautiful eyes like molten silver, riveted to Harry’s face or closed in bliss. Harry had never thought about falling in love with a man, or making love to a man – for he knew that he didn’t have sex with Draco, he had made love to him, which was completely different – but with Draco everything was so simple, so natural, so effortless. It had been like this with Ginny before Dumbledore’s death, and the hunt for the Horcruxes, and the war. But even then he had never felt so complete. It was wonderful to love Draco, to make love to him, to be buried in his heat, to feel his body under eager hands and lips, to whisper sweet words in his ear during love, to cuddle and fall asleep entangled with him, to listen to his soft voice and laughter, to walk with him and let the silence enfold them.


End file.
